JSRF:Phantoms
by albie
Summary: Clutch is waking to a day of adventure.(some mentions of drugs)


Jet Set Radio Future: Phantoms  
  
Clutch woke to the sound of Seagulls screaming. First their high pitched cries had invaded his dream, his lovely dream about the yellow grass and the red houses that he often dreamt about. Secondly the ear stabbing screeching of the Seagulls outside his seventy floor bedroom window had invaded his reality. Or his waking dream as he liked to see it. Tokyo. A world as bright and exciting as any night time fantasy. A world that now was open to him again, and his friends. He parted his Superfreak curtains and saw the white flash of wings catching the sunlight. The sky was a blue dome over the skyscraper district, dangling a tiny array of clouds in the distance over the rusty shambles of Kibogaka hill. He couldn't look at any part of Tokyo without a list of adventures popping up in his mind's eye. Hikage Street, Chuo, 99th. Every corner of the city was trouble for him and his rudies to fight against. All in the name of fun, of course. A map of Tokyo was a map of excitements past, and excitements yet to be. So what was he doing letting his eyes close and his head to drop back onto the pillow? Clutch pulled himself out of bed and quickly dressed in his baggies and his long sleeve. His fave gear. And speaking of gear. He made sure his door was locked and got down on his knees, reaching his arm under the bed for his rocket skates. There they were, like something that had dropped out of a dream. They weren't the best skates around but they were his. He had washed dishes at the Green Coffee Lounge for seven weeks so he could afford them, and he intended to put them to good use. As he did the bag of grass that was safely lodged away inside the left boot. He pulled the clear plastic bag out of the toe end and dangled it, admiring the green lump of chopped leaves inside. His small wooden pipe and lighter were still on the cabinet next to his bed; that was careless. If his Mom had walked in to wake him up he would have been in deep trouble. As in no more rocket skates. The Seagulls screamed and then sailed away, off towards the sea. It was time for him to get going too, judging by his Superfreak alarm clock. The gang would be amassing by now, wondering if he was going to show. What else would he get up to other than a bit of rocket fuelled trouble on a lovely day like this? Well...he could always go off alone to some crumbling peak in Kibogaka, smoke some dope and watch the sky turn and turn and darken like the flames in his pipe becoming ash.  
  
Clutch slipped his rocket skates on and fastened them up tight. The fuel gauge was well in the white; he had filled them up last thing before going home to bed, as he always did. He was a creature of habit, but it paid off in the end. He was never short of a boost grind or a power leap. How many times had he seen Yoyo begging for a push with the cops behind him, firing bullets like they were going cheap. Some of the younger rudies could do to take a leaf from his book. Plan ahead and that gives you time for a good chill out, high above Tokyo, where no one can tag you. He swung his window open wide, making sure he had everything he needed, and then leapt out into the blue. He fell one flight, two, three. The pneumantic suspension in his boots took care of the gravity once he landed on the roof of the adjoining tower. That was the easy part over with, now the tasking leap onto a telephone wire, attached to the corner of the roof top. A sheer drop of more than sixty flights appeared as he pushed himself to the edge. It always, always took his breath away, and made him wish he had taken the lift. But it was too easy taking the lift. Even grinding the stair rail was child's play now. He had been a full time rocket skater for five years or more; he needed a challenge. He made a slight leap onto the industrial strength telephone wire and followed its slope across a chasm of windows and connecting highrise pathways. Some day he would have the guts to drop down on to one of those paths, frighten the life out of some pedestrian. That was always a bonus to your day. They deserved it. Until they all realised that speed was the way, they would continue to be pushed around. By the rudies and the cops. Big Goshi was gone, lost in the nightmare cogs of his own machine, but that didn't mean his laws had passed away with him. There was no time to ponder this now; he needed all his concentration to make the leap onto a lower ledge once his wire ride was over. Which wasn't too far away. He had produced a few nice flashes of sparks on his way down, allowing the tough metal of his rollerblades to take the brunt of the grind. Don't want to wear your rubber out now, do you. No sir- ee. He leapt. The ledge was on another building entirely, but he always made sure he had enough speed to make it. Now was no exception. He hit the wide ledge dead on and carried on to the end of it, where a lower roof waited, as if built purely for him. He was coming in view of the streets. Some of the pedestrians on the walkways pointed him out, some waved. They usually weren't so polite about their hand gestures to skaters. Maybe they had witnessed the battle last year, between the GG's and the Noise Tanks. Maybe they understood who had really gotten rid of Goshi. Maybe the GG's were heroes after all. He considered waving back, but thought better of it. He was late and had to keep his mind on the job of getting to the ground in one piece. A drop of five feet onto a thin water pipe was next, then another wire ride down, down, down to another roof. He handled all the tricks and made it to the pavement, scattering a small crowd of pedestrians like crows. Terra firma. Hah! What was so firm about it when the earthquakes hit? Now that would be a fine time to be riding a wire. Richter scale nine and Clutch makes the ground in one piece.  
  
A hand grabbed his shoulder.  
  
Instinctively he fired his boosters and shot away towards a sign post, intending to grind out of danger. He was halfway there when he caught a glimpse of his assailant. A big guy, just a shape in the shadows of an alley. Not a cop then. Maybe he ought to have a bit of fun with him. He took the sign post grind to the top and let the inertia take him onto a small rooftop. From here he peered down onto the street. Nobody was peering back at him. A few figures in the distance at the end of the street maybe, that's all. So, you fled in terror did you...  
  
He could hear someone grinding up the sign post.  
  
A fellow rocket skater? Didn't mean they were friendly. He wasn't stopping to find out. There was a canal at the back of the building he was on, but it was small enough to leap, if he boosted. He made for the edge and boosted at the right moment. The roar of his skates filled his ears, and a jumble of rooftops and canal water swarmed in his vision as he put trust in his jet powered skates yet again. He had no idea if he was going to reach the next roof. He could almost feel the deep and oily water claiming him. Sucking him down into darkness. It was hard to swim with heavy skates on your feet. He almost screamed. Then he was rolling away, his boots slowing on the tarmac roof. He lost his balance and tumbled, feeling his chin collide with his knee somehow. A quick succesion of blows rained across his back and then his arms as he continued to stumble and turn over, still under the influence of his boost. It had to stop soon; rooftops didn't go on forever. He was an aching ball of relief and fear by the time he came to rest, on the very edge of a twenty foot drop above a busy motorway. His bones were still where they should be and his boots were unharmed. Things could have been worse, he decided, looking down to the rushing lanes of heavy duty traffic below. How would it feel to take a ride across those speeding trucks? Leaping from one steaming bonnet to another? Could he? Maybe? Nah. Never push your luck.  
  
He looked over his shoulder, alerted by a roar of jet boots. His 'friend' had taken off across the rooftops on the other bank, towards Shibuya terminal. He had to get a good look at him . He was sure he recognised the shape of that guy. Something about the wide shoulders, perhaps? He had to be certain, and that meant following him. Good. Nobody made a fool of Clutch. Unless it was himself. Then he was doing it deliberately, for fun. And that was ok. He scanned the rooftops he would have to use to give chase, judging their likely strength. He had never used this particular route before. It would be a new experience for him. Good again. 


End file.
